


Between the Lines

by Brynstein



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Poetry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-26
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 23:15:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29000571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brynstein/pseuds/Brynstein
Summary: By the patter of the rain,On the bedroom window-pane,She awakes in the comfort of his bed...I started writing short poems for different moments of msr. This might turn into a poem for each episode.
Relationships: Fox Mulder/Dana Scully
Kudos: 11





	1. All Things

**Author's Note:**

> If I do a poem for a lot episodes there is a chance that I will reorder chapters into chronological order.

By the patter of the rain,  
On the bedroom window-pane,  
She awakes in the comfort of his bed.

The sheets are rumpled and warm,  
Covering his sleeping form,  
And images of last night fill her head.

Biting her smiling lip in remembrance,  
Of their seven-year-long slow dance,  
She shuffles closer, limbs tired like lead.

She wraps her arms around his torso,  
Musing the possibility of loving him more so,  
Now that those words have been said.

She should probably get ready,  
But her head on his chest is heavy,  
So, she bargains for an extra minute instead.


	2. Detour

A knock on his door,  
Some wine in hand,  
She can't help but smile,  
If things go as planned.

Why is she doing this?  
She doesn't question,  
Instead she grins,  
To meet his expression.

The feeling is right,  
She yearns to be,  
Yet the timing is not,  
She learns when he leaves.


	3. Ice

The door slides closed behind her,  
Groaning against the rails it scrapes.  
The light slowly fades until just a slither,  
Filters through the gap in the wall the window makes.  
The wind howls in their silence,  
Whipping the snow into a brothy storm.  
She shudders from the cold out there,  
(she tells herself) but inside it is warm.

The metal of the chain in her grasp is a soothing chill.  
She pulls it. A luminescent bulb swings--  
Naked and lonely, it precariously swings,  
Shadows shifting in the glow it spills.  
It floods the room, dripping like wax.  
Like wax, its sharp sting burns her skin.  
It chokes her sight but,  
She cautiously looks his way in the bright light,  
His wild, squinting eyes, a reaction to hers akin.

Fear, like a fever, runs riot in her veins.  
Blood pumps each pounding thud,  
Through her breast, shaky with shallow breath.  
She feels the sweat on her brow, prickle with buds.  
Symptoms of trepidation, nothing more, nothing less,  
But by trepidation, she feels consumed, which  
She fights in order to keep calm and collected,  
Before this reaches fever pitch.

The room feels smaller,  
And the walls inch closer,  
And the air gets hotter.  
She feels hotter.

Her focus remains on him,  
Even when she fails to look him in the eye,  
His words hiss like a boiling kettle,  
Implicitly, she trusts his reasons why.  
Yet she fears being burnt by the metal.  
Stooped to search her face for meaning,  
His frame manages to tower her own,  
"I _want_ to trust you," he breathes,  
His features cast in darkened shadow.

Leaning in nearer (if it was possible),  
The walls close further still.  
"Okay, but now they're not here."  
He turns. Something whirrs inside her: an illicit thrill.  
His fingers skim the neckline of his top,  
Pulling it wide, inviting,  
So she steps up close, her fingertips,  
Resting where his had been, ever enticing.  
She takes a breath, overestimates her power,  
Hears the material strain,  
Neither shy away or cower,  
Though she holds her breath in restrain.

Her hand lands on the expanse of his back,  
Tiny against his ocean of a body,  
Like a sailor, she searches in earnest,  
Covers every inch (lest her work be shoddy).  
Her physician's hand smooths across his back.  
His skin soft, and smooth, and warm, and tender.  
(Not that she'd cast it previous thought),  
But it was better than anything imagination could render.

No lumps, no bumps, no worms to contend,  
She sighs, relief flooding over her.  
Dipping her head to hide a shy smile,  
She conceals the brief euphoria.

Turning to leave,  
Something catches her:  
Him.

His hand upon her shoulder, strong,  
Stops her still.  
She feels her breath, hot,  
Catch in her throat, shocked.  
Surprise broils her body.

She turns her head to question him,  
But his fingers coax her back around,  
Instead of his lingering fingers,  
She trains her focus on the ground.  
His lingering fingers, gentle,  
Sweep across her neck.  
She lets out that caught breath:  
It was only the same test.  
He brushes her wayward baby hairs aside,  
And she abides, waiting for the rest.

Tender is his touch,  
The way he holds her so,  
In the palm of his hand,  
Reassuring, he lets her know,  
With a smile she sees when she turns back,  
The mirror of hers that had just been,  
His shoulders visibly relax,  
He lets her know she is clean.

Together they walk towards the door,  
Strength in the knowledge they share,  
Strength in their convictions,  
Strength restored in each other, facing the storm they fare.


End file.
